


Coulda told me, Shoulda known

by Astrodynamicist



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort (sort of), POV Second Person, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrodynamicist/pseuds/Astrodynamicist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding out your crush is taken sucks.<br/>Finding out your crush is taken is basically impossible when he 1) never talks about his personal life and 2) keeps his damn wedding ring on a chain under his shirt.</p><p>When the Shatterdome A/C breaks and Hermann faints from the heat, #2 becomes a moot point, and Newt finds out something he really wishes he'd been told sooner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coulda told me, Shoulda known

Of course the Shatterdome’s central cooling system breaks down in the middle of the hottest summer you’ve ever suffered in your life. Doesn’t just glitch, doesn’t go out in a few sections of the campus, it breaks _entirely_. Everywhere. And it’s been out of commission long enough that even the lab, insulated deep underground as it is, is starting to feel like an oven.

Oh, and did you mention the humidity? The air is fucking _soup_. Why did you leave Boston? Sure, you get to head up the world’s first ever xenobiology research division, but was that really worth it? Was it? You can’t even do real work in these conditions - you don’t dare take any specimens out, kaiju rots quickly enough when the room is properly climate-controlled. Which leaves you with paperwork. Endless fucking paperwork.

Literally the only benefit to this arrangement is that without all the toxic alien goop and miscellaneous chemicals lying around, you feel perfectly comfortable just not bothering with most of your clothes. Which enrages Hermann. Which is _hilarious_.

Plus you kinda think he can’t help looking at you a little bit. This is an awful lot of hottie just hanging out on display. You’d look, too.

Admittedly, you did set up your desk right next to the sink for easy drinking water access, which happens to be on a line of sight from Hermann’s chalkboards, so if he looks away from his work you are just sorta _right there_. But given how he tends to hyperfocus on work you still think there’s something more to the glances than just awkward placement. Not that he glances over that often. Also you’ve kinda been staring and he keeps noticing and people tend to look at people looking at them and uh. Yeah. But you are definitely also attractive so that’s probably part of it, too.

Hermann gave up on the sweatervest and blazer after the first day of the Heatpocalypse, which for him is practically like being naked. Except for the part where he is not, at all, remotely actually naked. You try not to be disappointed. Although, actually, you’re mostly just bemused because he still won’t unbutton his shirt, like, at all. He’ll wear fewer layers, and roll up his sleeves, but he won’t undo even the top-most button of his shirt. Even after you mocked him about it to point out how dumb it was. Weird.

You’re halfway through edits on a grant proposal when you realize the _tap-tap_ of chalk-on-chalkboard has disappeared from the lab’s soundscape. You glance up, expecting Hermann to be coming your way for water. But he isn’t. He’s still standing on his ladder. Well, for some value of “standing.” He’s more draped on it, really.

“Hey, Hermann, you okay?”

“It’s- it’s Dr. Gottlieb, to- to you.”

You get up and walk over. _“Are you okay?”_

He glares down at you. “I’m perfectly fine.”

The line of equations above him is a sloppy repeat of the line above it. Which doesn’t particularly follow from the work preceding it. And that work doesn’t make much sense, either.

The piece of chalk slips from Hermann’s fingers and breaks against the concrete floor below. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“When was the last time you got a drink of water?”

He grunts. Then, with some effort, he undrapes himself to slither gracelessly to the floor. He tries to stand, but he overbalances and tips forwards. You catch him and heave him back against the ladder.

You roll your eyes. “I’ll get it.”

“I’m perfectly capable-” You ignore his muttered protests and march back across the room to the sink.

_THUMP_

You whirl. Hermann’s lying in a pile on the floor. You rush back, fall to your knees to check his pulse-

“Nnnngh wuh?” He squints and blinks, splays a hand against the floor like he can’t quite figure out what it’s doing so close to his face. You get your hands under his armpits and drag him uprightish against his ladder. He grumbles and tries to push you off, but he can’t manage much better than vague flailing.

“Stay here.” You hurry to get him water.

“Did… did I faint?”

“Apparently.” You hand him the glass. “Why couldn’t you just wait?”

He looks hazily up at you. “...Thought I was okay….”

You shove a hand under your glasses to rub at your eyes. “Just drink.”

Two refills later, he’s still pale as hell, if slightly less disoriented. You retrieve a clean towel and soak it under the tap. “Unbutton your shirt, you need to cool off.”

“ _No_.”

“Okay, what the hell is your problem? It’s like 30 degrees in here, you’re halfway to getting heat stroke, and you won’t open your fucking collar!”

“It’s none of your business why-”

You throw the dripping towel in his face. “Fine. Get heat stroke and die because you’re an idiot. Go ahead.”

He glares, but then starts unbuttoning. His fingers are slow and clumsy, but little by little his sweat-soaked shirt opens. You follow the triangular window down, down the thin line of his neck, down the V of a fine chain weighted by a plain gold ring. The skin of his chest is as clammy and pale as the rest of him, covered in wet curls of dark hair that straighten towards the bottom of his chest, lay a path down to his navel, down to the top of his trousers. He starts wiping himself with the towel. He isn’t looking at you looking at him. Bright spots of color have appeared on his cheeks. You feel your own face heating up. There are bruises across his collarbones.

Wait, shit, how did that happen? There are some on his neck, too, and-

Oh. Oh, those are hickies.

Hermann has hickies.

“You have hickies.”

Hermann has someone who gives him hickies.

“Who gave you hickies??”

Now his whole face is turning red. Ears, too. He glares at you, thin-lipped. “What are you doing, staring at me?”

“Uh- uh- sorry!”

Back at the sink, water pooling in one hand. _He has hickies. He has someone to give him hickies._ When did that happen?

The water is fucking tepid. Why is nothing on this stupid base cold? Why did you leave Boston? Why did you stare at Hermann’s bare chest?

 _You know why_.

You splash water on your face. He probably needs a fresh towel, more water. Not a boyfriend. Apparently.

You don’t even know if he likes guys?

Who- when- how-

There was a ring on the chain. _He has a ring_.

He’s probably married.

“Could you bring me more water?” He sounds like he hates asking you. Of course he does. He doesn’t like you.

Refill his glass, return it.

Grab the towel too, soak it again, bring that back. Drop it in his lap without meeting his eyes. "Hey!" Return.

Your heart is pounding. Feels like a thousand beats a minute. You know that isn’t really possible.

He’ll need another towel.

“Have you considered _handing_ them to me?!”

 _“When did you get married?”_ God, why is it so fucking hot in this place. You can’t fucking breathe.

“January 2016.”

“You’ve been married this _entire time?!_ Why didn’t you tell me!”

“It hardly seemed relevant.”

Pacing in tiny circles. Well, really starting in different directions over and over again. What are you going to do? You hands are shaking. No, you’re just fidgeting. See?

You won’t look at him.

“Her name is Vanessa.”

Her. _Her_ name. Of course she’s a woman. Of course.

“This is stupid.”

“Go to hell!”

“No, I mean- you’re sick! Because you’re a stupid proud idiot and, and, I should’ve done something before, said something- I mean, I can fix the A/C, why shouldn’t I fix the A/C? Then it wouldn’t have been like this….”

“...Newton?”

He looks _concerned_ for you, what the hell, no.

“You need a doctor I’m calling a medic.”

You march to the lab’s phone, make the call, twist the cord (how the hell old is this phone?) around and around and around and-

“They’re sending someone down.”

-and around and around and around-

You thank the hospital bay phone call taker person. Secretary? Dispatcher?

-and around and around and around-

Hang up.

“I didn’t realize you cared so much about me-”

“I don’t care for you!”

Dead quiet.

Except for the whirring of the lab equipment and the distant thuds of jaeger maintenance. And your heartbeat. Still fucking pounding away.

You shove your head under the tap. Water spatters your glasses. And everything else nearby. Who cares.

Footsteps, and the sound of a wheelchair.

You turn. The medic guy is paused in the doorway, taking in the tableau of the lab. You realize what a sight you must be in flipflops and boxers, head dripping wet.

What the fuck ever.

The medic gets Hermann squared away. You don’t bother to watch. He’ll be fine. He’s taken. Taken care of. He has someone to, to take care of him.

He’s _married?_

Whatever. You’ll be fine. Why wouldn’t you be? Who cares. You’re glad for him. They must be very happy. Probably really cute together and everything.

The medic keeps shooting you dirty looks. What the fuck did you do wrong now? Oh, it’s your tattoos, isn’t it?

“Take a fucking picture, asshole, it’ll last longer.”

He scowls and hisses something under his breath in Cantonese. You’re sure it’s insulting. Who cares. You don’t.

You think Hermann tries to catch your eye on the way out. But you would think that. You’ve thought a lot of things.

You think you should get back to work. You have paperwork. Lots of grant props and, and whatever else you were working on. Maybe music. Hermann’s not gonna be around - you’ve got your piano, don’t you?

You play the piano. You drink a lot of water because this heat is fucking awful and you can’t stop watching the clock because you can’t focus, even on the music. You keep needing to get up to pee, is your problem. Stupid hot weather. Stupid everything.

You didn’t like him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to IngloriousHeist for beta reading this!
> 
> Points of clarification, just in case - that's 30 degrees Celsius, and Hermann keeping his ring under his shirt is because I headcanon him as autistic and part of his sensory weirds is he can't stand having things on his hands (which is my explanation for why he doesn't wear a wedding ring in the film).


End file.
